moontempleuniverse:

my boss is singing ‘easy like sunday morning' and i am hiding in the cooler so i can text you

shredding carrots is literally my favorite activity
look at you you seem so closed
creak yourself open for me
i hate shrill voices and young people
and i’m sorry but i think you’re so cute
i am soft i can
teach you how to be soft
put flowers on the grave of us
this high-stress work environment is bad for my heart condition

i want to know definitively whether or not you talk in your sleep and what your hair looks like wet and what you do when confronted by things you are irrationally afraid of

if i have to wipe off one more goddamn table i’m going to have a heart attack
i accidentally burnt the shit out of my arm today thinking of you

  via: http://moontempleuniverse.tumblr.com

It's 3:09 PM, I've just deactivated my facebook account. Not planned, or thought-out...just so. I know, it's a foolish and stupid thing to even take the time of noting down in words but so it goes. I'm not horrible, I've been worse. I'm just not...doing too good. I don't feel well, and quite frankly I'm too exhausted for the whole staying positive bullshit. Things like deactivating my lame facebook account and not owning a cell-phone by free-will...it's my way of modernly disconnecting from the artificial world I've held part of and the people in it. It's not that I'm trying to isolate myself or become un-social completely...it's more like...I'm just trying to find some air, some real goddamn fresh air to breath. I've been listening to Man Of A Thousand Faces by Regina Spektor on repeat this past week, and I just need...I just need to let my own self be. I'm at a distant public library away from home as I type this. It's one of my favorite places to visit and spend some quality free time at. Surrounding myself with books and records and strangers is one of the most tranquilizing methods I know. It's difficult sometimes...to accept that I'm twenty years old and in far reach of accomplishing my dreams. It's difficult to accept that my father's heart could fail again...it's difficult to accept that my mum has vertigo...it's difficult to accept that my uncle is dead, it's going to be a year since then...and I still cannot bring myself out of selfish denial. Loving is difficult, caring is difficult, trying is difficult, beliefs are difficult, feelings are difficult, I am difficult...and the thought of wanting to cry makes me want to cry because it's so exasperating and draining and overwhelming and humbling. I haven't written or posted much on here lately, but doing so right now...gives me this tiny and odd and inexplicable crumb of...hope? It's difficult to accept death as much as life sometimes...but nevertheless I accept it. I cope through it in the stupid little ways that I can...I become torn and furiously passionate all at once. I can only love as much as my heart can manage...and work hard and try hard and cry when I feel like goddamn crying because feelings are beautiful and meant to be exposed. 
 todo en él es lugar adecuado.

in·ef·fa·ble

/inˈefəbəl/Adjective

1.Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words:
    "ineffable beauty"

2.Too sacred to be uttered.


Synonyms:

unspeakable - inexpressible - unutterable - nameless

“fifty thousand people, shrieking
tear me limb from limb from limb 

and ship my body parts to different continents
existing everywhere on earth simultaneously
fifty thousand people repeating the word ‘fuck’
 over and over in monotone
seven billion eighty-eight million ninety-three thousand people standing silently 
hundreds of sleepless nights trying to remember the names of every sea.” 

— "I stopped being in love with you so I don’t know 
what to write about anymore,” Kelsea Basye.

 

you've gotta be the one.



"Reflection tells me that blue further may represent the capacity to embrace one's pain instead of taking the more common path of denial. I agree with most of aventurine's analysis. In at least Western culture, depression is seen as a lack of resolve rather than an illness. The common belief is that the clinically depressed are simply character flawed. Others tend to see a refusal to "look at the bright side" or to effectively practice enough "positive thinking." Most hurtful of all, they will often perceive nonexistent attention seeking motives. Telling that to a depressed person is like saying, "You're making it all up!" In his social network, Drake probably needed more people who could accept him rather than the majority who would attempt to "fix" him. He was clearly perfect as he was--nothing needed any rework. He likely sought bonds with those who, like himself, had the courage to see the blue without any blinders. That is sadly rare in our culture and that truth seemed to sadden Drake as he sought those few who were unafraid to face the blue head on. Social phobia often spirals into an excruciating trap of silent suffering. It is almost as much a societal illness as it is a psychological one. Isolating is very often potently reinforced. Drake's depression may have been fallout from social anxiety. I believe it probably was, but I of course can't know for sure. Regardless, what I will term his "lone blue" was clearly stifling and pervasively life-limiting. He must have found quiet peace through his art, but it wasn't enough. His alienation was only furthered in never being properly appreciated or acknowledged while he was alive. Though he would have never stated it, I'd guess that he knew the magnitude of his gift. These lyrics deeply resonate with me because my life has been limited by the same kinds of mental illness (why in the world are we afraid to say it?). Without any doubt, I could never express my feelings and yearnings as splendidly as Drake has, but I wholly identify. It is some consolation that the world is getting value from his work, but how tragic it is that it did not come in time to have possibly prevented the loss of his life--and such a loss it was. I encourage everyone here to experience Drake's complete recorded works. With (maybe) a couple of exceptions,
 I find every one of his songs nothing less than awe inspiring."



A Sonnet of Invented Memories

1.

I told you that I was a roadway of potholes, not safe to cross. You said nothing, showed up in my driveway wearing roller-skates.

2.

The first time I asked you on a date, after you hung up, I held the air between our phones against my ear and whispered, “You will fall in love with me. Then, just months later, you will fall out. I will pretend the entire time that I don’t know it’s coming.”

3.

Once, I got naked and danced around your bedroom, awkward and safe. You did the same. We held each other without hesitation and flailed lovely. This was vulnerability foreplay.

4.

The last eight times I told you I loved you, they sounded like apologies.

5.

You recorded me a CD of you repeating, “You are beautiful.” I listened to it until I no longer thought in my own voice.

6.

Into the half-empty phone line, I whispered, “We will wake up believing the worst in each other. We will spit shrapnel at each other’s hearts. The bruises will lodge somewhere we don’t know how to look for and I will still pretend I don’t know its coming.”

7.

You photographed my eyebrow shapes and turned them into flashcards: mood on one side, correct response on the other. You studied them until you knew when to stay silent.

8.

I bought you an entire bakery so that we could eat nothing but breakfast for a week. Breakfast, untainted by the day ahead, was when we still smiled at each other as if we meant it.

9.

I whispered, “I will latch on like a deadbolt to a door and tell you it is only because I want to protect you. Really, I’m afraid that without you I mean nothing.”

10.

I gave you a bouquet of plane tickets so I could practice the feeling of watching you leave.

11.

I picked you up from the airport limping. In your absence, I’d forgotten how to walk. When I collapsed at your feet, you refused to look at me until I learned to stand up without your help.

12.

Too scared to move, I stared while you set fire to your apartment – its walls decaying beyond repair, roaches invading the corpse of your bedroom. You tossed all the faulty appliances through the smoke out your window, screaming that you couldn’t handle choking on one more thing that wouldn’t just fix himself.

13.

I whispered, “We will each weed through the last year and try to spot the moment we began breaking. We will repel sprint away from each other. Your voice will take months to drain out from my ears. You will throw away your notebook of tally marks from each time you wondered if I was worth the work. The invisible bruises will finally surface and I will still pretend that I didn’t know it was coming.”

14.

The entire time, I was only pretending that I knew it was coming.

- Miles Walser

 Coffee + cigarettes + Mozart's Wolfgang Amadeus.